The Promise
by petnurser
Summary: This is actually inspired by a promise a friend and I made once to each other. By the time I was 35 (he is two years younger) we both were married and had young children with different people. I love my life, my husband and my kids but I do wonder sometimes what it would all be like if the promise had been fulfilled…


The fairy cake was on her desk when she got there along with a jewelry box. Today was the day, her 35th birthday. Inside the box was a beautifully understated one-quarter caret diamond set in a platinum setting. Molly Hooper couldn't believe that he took her seriously. She couldn't hold him to a tipsy (she wasn't completely drunk, but wasn't really sober, either) promise made at a dismal Bart's event five years ago.

It was all so simple to say then, when she was unchecked due to one too many glasses of wine. "Sherlock, when I get to be 35 and, if both of us are not married, we can get married and have lots of pretty babies."

She didn't miss the slight smirk but did miss the affection in his eyes when he replied, "Now that is a promise I can keep, Molly Hooper."

And so the promise was made but she never expected him to honor it.

Molly looked up and saw him standing there. "Simply name the day, Molly."

"I can't hold you to this."

"It is your thirty-fifth birthday, Happy Birthday, by the way. Neither you nor I are married or even currently seeing someone. You want children and I am not adverse to them. All we need to do is set the date. I would prefer a low key ceremony but will leave the final details to you. I am sure my mother would be more than willing to plan. If you don't like the ring, let me know. I can get you what you want but I remember you describing this type of ring that night. If you don't want to marry me, I withdraw my offer; keep the ring as a birthday gift, but please consider it."

"You're serious."

"Very much so. I have considered that night many times, Molly, and have been looking forward to this day."

"Then, Sherlock, I accept."

He swept her into his arms and kissed her with every fiber of his being. Molly returned the kiss with equal fervor.

Mrs. Holmes was thrilled to meet her very soon to be daughter-in-law. Soon the plans were made to hold a simple ceremony followed by a catered hors-d'œuvre reception at the Holmes' family home in the countryside. The newlyweds would spend a peaceful weekend in a small bed and breakfast on the Isle of Wright. Neither Mrs. Holmes nor Molly thought that Sherlock would adjust well to a full fortnight of quiet.

On the day of the ceremony, as Molly was dressing into the lovely silk flowered dress she had chosen for the ceremony, there was a knock on the door.

"Sherlock, you aren't supposed to see the bride before the ceremony."

"Old tradition that is meaningless. This is my childhood bedroom, why shouldn't I be able to come in?"

Smiling and sighing softly, Molly Hooper, soon to be Holmes (her decision, not his or tradition's), opened the door, stepped aside and let her fiancé in. He was handsome in a new suit, dark purple shirt and a black necktie. "Molly," he said as he sat on the edge of the bed. "I won't say it enough but I do love you, have done so for a long time. I plan on showing you every day. That doesn't mean to say that I am not still an unpleasant arsehole, I am. I just wanted you to know." He then pulled her into a blistering kiss with a promise of more to come. "I'll see you again in a few minutes, but it is not soon enough." He then left, leaving Molly without her getting a word in and a smile on her face.

If pushed, Molly would admit that she had misgivings about going through with the promise. Her birthday was only a month ago and there was barely time to see if they were compatible in so many other ways. In other words, they were going to their marriage bed eager but unknowing about each other. She need not worry if the smoldering look he gave her as she walked down the made-up aisle in his parent's garden on John Watson's arm. As they said, "I will" in turn it just felt right.


End file.
